Games of the Heart

by Kristen Ashley

  “You’re joking,” she whispered.

  “I’m not,” he returned.

  “You’re joking,” she repeated immediately on another whisper.

  “I’m not,” he repeated too.

  Then, instantly, she leaned in, her eyes narrowed and she shrieked, “You’re joking!”

  Mike opened his mouth to retort but Dusty wasn’t done.

  “I don’t see you for twenty years, Darrin’s fucking dead, you walk up to my hotel room and give me Debbie’s shit? Have you lost your mind?” She threw her hands up, took the three steps that separated them and poked him hard in the chest. “You know her. You know her and her shit.” She threw both hands up again and asked, “Honest to God, Mike, honest to God? You think I’m kicking back?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. She leaned in and shouted in his face, “Well, I’m not!”

  She took two steps away then pivoted and started pacing.

  And, at the same time, she let it all hang out.

  “Fucking Debbie. Debbie! God, if I didn’t know it would kill my mother, I’d get in a bitch-slapping, hair-pulling, rolling around the house, smackdown sister catfight with that bitch. God!” she cried, stopped and whirled on him. “Rhonda’s a goddamned mess but even as a mess, she knew what Darrin wanted. Does Debbie listen?” She leaned into him again and shouted, “No! Rhonda said Darrin wanted only family, a small service, no big thing, no one at the house. He knew Rhonda couldn’t deal with that shit. He knew, fuck, everyone knows Rhonda’s sensitive. He knew bad shit went down with him if he was forty-four or ninety-four, she wouldn’t be able to cope. So he wanted it easy on her. He wanted to give us the closure we all needed then get us to a place where she could help his wife move on. But not Debbie, no,” she drew out the “no” sarcastically. “It’s not seemly, Debbie says. The town will want to say their good-byes, Debbie says. Darrin is the fourth generation to work that farm, Debbie says, so we’ve got to keep up appearances, Debbie freaking says. Has Debbie been sleeping with my brother for the last twenty years?” she asked, leaning in then jerking back and shouting, “No! Has she given him two sons? No! Does she give a shit what he wanted? Does she give a shit about what would be easier on Rhonda, my boys and, frankly, Mom? No! She wants what she wants and fuck anyone else. So guess what, Mike? She pushed and she pushed and she bitched and she wheedled and she played games and we were all so fucking over her shit, she got what she fucking wanted.”

  She stopped shouting and did it breathing hard, the pain stark in her eyes right alongside the fury.

  But Mike had long since realized his mistake. He knew it. He saw it all over her at the funeral home, his instincts screamed it but he ignored it and now he felt like a dick. And he felt this because he’d acted like one.

  So he instigated damage control.

  “Sweetheart –” he started but she shook her head, stepped back and kept talking.

  “That’s not the worst of it, Mike. He wanted to be cremated. Debbie said no. And Rhonda wanted a closed casket. And Debbie…said…” she leaned in, “no.”

  “Jesus,” he whispered.

  “Yeah,” she snapped back immediately. “Jesus. And Rhonda is sensitive but she isn’t stupid. My brother died and she called me right away. She knew she didn’t have the strength to deal with arrangements. She knew Debbie would be Debbie. She knew what Darrin wanted, told me and I sorted it all out. Every last fucking detail. Then Mom, being Mom and never able to keep her mouth shut, tells Debbie and Debbie loses her mind. Then she’s all up in my shit and wandering DC with that stupid thing attached to her ear calling me, Mom, Rhonda, Dad, George Markham, everybody. Now me, this is my brother, this is Darrin,” her voice cracked, the sorrow clogging her throat. Mike prepared to move to her but she pressed on and he stopped, “I wanted what he wanted. I wanted to look out for his woman, his family.”

  Her voice was thick, her words were taking effort but she kept going, needing to say them so Mike stood where he was and let her.

  “So I was ready to do what I had to do to make certain he got what he wanted and I had their backs. But Mom, being Mom, wanted peace and Debbie, being Debbie, would not shut the fuck up about it. And since I could fucking remember, the best way for Mom to make that peace was give Debbie what she wanted. So she talked Rhonda into that shit and she told me to lay off. Rhonda knew I was pissed way the fuck off and so did Dad. But me digging my heels in wasn’t helping anyone, it was just making a bunch of shit shittier. So I backed off. But I wasn’t going to be a party to that, Mike. It was enough to walk into that fucking, fucking,” her voice cracked again but she pushed right through it, “funeral parlor and see my brother fucking dead and laid out for everyone to see the same. And I wasn’t going to be a party to the rest of that shit Debbie orchestrated for whatever reasons Debbie does whatever the fuck she wants to do. And I know and so did Dad and Rhonda, that if I had to spend even a minute with that bitch, I’d lose my mind. So they told me to stay away. So I’m staying away. I saw them this morning when Debbie was at the funeral parlor doing what Debbie does best, bossing everyone around. When everyone’s gone, including my bitch of a sister who has some stupid-ass conference call she has to take on a Sunday, I’ll see them tomorrow. But now, so I don’t rip all her goddamned hair out and make a really, really fucking bad day worse, I’m here, kicking back and listening to music.”

  She stopped talking and Mike gave her time. When it was clear she was done talking, he stopped giving her time.

  “I was out of line,” Mike admitted gently.

  “Yeah, you were,” Dusty returned immediately.

  He held her eyes and she returned the gesture.

  They did this for a long time.

  Then Mike, already having jumped to conclusions, unusually followed a knee-jerk reaction and commenced acting like a dick, went right on making the wrong choices and stupidly whispered, “Hey, Angel.”

  He hadn’t called her that in over two decades. He used to call her that all the time. He thought it would be familiar and welcome. But, bottom line, that was who she was to him. Always.

  She instantly dissolved into tears.

  Then he was across the room and had her in his arms. She held on, up on her toes, shoving her face in his neck, her arms closing tight around his shoulders and she sobbed. He bent his head so his lips were close to the skin of her neck. He could smell her unusual perfume, hints of musk, lesser hints of floral, vaguely outdoorsy but undeniably feminine and he listened to her quiet weeping as he felt her body move against his, bucking uncontrollably with her tears.

  “For…for…forty-four,” she stammered softly in his ear.

  “I know, honey,” he whispered against her neck, her arms going tighter.

  “He…he…he won’t ee…even see the boys graduate high school.”

  Mike didn’t respond, just kept holding her close.

  “He wanted to be in the fields,” she whispered then clarified, “his ashes.”

  Jesus. Fucking, Debbie. Bullshitting him. Skating toward coming onto him. And doing that to Darrin.

  “Now, he’s just rotting,” she went on.

  “He isn’t doing that, darlin’,” Mike replied, she fell to the soles of her feet, her head went back, his went up and he caught her watery eyes.

  “He is, Mike,” she told him quietly.

  “No he isn’t, honey. He’s gone.” His arms gave her a squeeze. “It sucks, I know, it really fucking sucks but he’s gone. It doesn’t matter where his body is because he’s no longer in it.”

  Her eyes held his for long moments. Then she nodded.

  “You’re right,” she whispered.

  “I am,” he agreed and when he did, the clouds in her eyes parted and her lips quirked.

  Then her arms shifted but not to let him go. They moved from rounding his shoulders so her hands could wrap around the sides of his neck. Then her thumbs moved out to stroke his jaw. And as she did this, her eyes were moving over his face.

  Shit. Fuck him.
/>   Fuck him.

  He knew immediately where her mind was turning. It was where her sister’s had turned.

  Mike wanted not one thing to do with Debbie Holliday.

  But Dusty…

  This Dusty.

  Fuck him.

  “Dusty –” he started. What he was going to say he didn’t know. What he knew was, her face had changed, her body had relaxed into his and his arms did not move from around her.

  Before he could say it, though, she spoke.

  “Shocker,” she muttered.

  Her word was unexpected so he replied, “Pardon?”

  Her eyes left his mouth and came to his. “Shocker,” she repeated softly. “That you’re even more gorgeous than when you were high school. Total shocker.”

  It wasn’t. If she took any time to look in the mirror she’d see the same thing every day.

  “Honey –” he started, forcing his arms from around her, his hands sliding to the sides of her waist to set her away but her fingers pressed into his neck and he stopped.

  “Good genes, Mike Haines,” she whispered, her eyes dropping to his mouth, her body sliding up his as she went back up on her toes. “You’ve always had them.”

  Fuck.

  Her lips hit his but not for a kiss. Eyes open and staring into his, her lips moving against his lips, she warned, “I’m gonna kiss you, babe.”

  His fingers pressed into her waist and he warned back, “This is not a good idea, Dusty.”

  Her eyes flared in a way he felt in his dick and her mouth moved against his so he knew she’d smiled.

  “Yeah?” she asked then didn’t wait for an answer. “Well, I’ve carried through with a lot of bad ideas, gorgeous. And I’ve done all right.”

  Before he could respond, her hands slid into his hair, holding his head to hers and her lips pressed hard.

  Any other woman, bar none, made a play on him like that, he wouldn’t like it. Complete turn off. He made the plays. He initiated the moves.

  But fuck him, her lips felt good. Her tits also felt good pressed tight to his chest. The soft flesh under his fingers felt good. And she smelled fucking great.

  And there was the small fact that he’d had nothing but his hand for over two months. And the last woman who he’d shared a bed with was of the Debbie in high school variety.

  It had been a while.

  Too long. Way too fucking long for a man like him.

  So his mouth opened over hers.

  Her tongue instantly slid inside.

  His tongue instantly forced it out and slid into her mouth.

  She flattened herself against him.

  Fuck, that felt great.

  His arms closed around her and she felt good in them. Too good. She wasn’t too short.

  She was fucking perfect.

  He slanted his head and deepened the kiss. She tilted hers, let him in and did it on a sexy whimper that vibrated against his tongue and he felt straight to his dick.

  His hands immediately went to her ass.

  She immediately gave a little hop.

  He caught her, lifting her, her legs rounded his hips and, kissing her the whole way, he walked Dusty Holliday to the bed.

  Then he put her in it, joining her there.

  And then Mike Haines proceeded to fuck away her pain at losing her brother.

  Chapter Two

  Making a Mental Note to Do Cartwheels

  Okay, shit. I just fucked Mike Haines, my sister’s ex-boyfriend.

  No. That wasn’t right.

  Okay, shit. I just fucked the unbelievably gorgeous Mike Haines, who was hot when he was seventeen but who was astronomically, amazingly, super hot gorgeous now, my sister’s ex-boyfriend and it was by far and away the best sex I’d had in my life.

  And my brother had never died so I couldn’t know unless we had sex again, and Jesus, God, please, I pray, let it happen again, but it wasn’t about emotional trauma.

  It was just that Mike was astronomically, amazingly good in bed.

  Okay, shit. Okay, shit!

  Right, I should probably not pray to God to give me great sex but, seriously, He created Mike and gave him his abilities, He had to know a woman would want more.

  But now what did I do?

  I drew in a breath and felt Mike’s fingers drifting on my shoulder. His touch was light. It was also sweet. And I liked it a whole lot. But it was messing with my ability to concentrate.

  Further messing with it was that I had my head in the middle of his chest, my arm thrown around his flat abs and my leg tangled in his. After we were done, Mike put us in bed and pulled the sheets up to our waists.

  I stared down his chest to his abs trying to think. Then my thoughts about what to do next drifted away with Mike’s sweet touch as I stared at his abs and I found a more pertinent thought to think of.

  This being if it was possible that his abs were another divine miracle. I mean, at his age, how did he have a six-pack?

  I shook this thought from my brain and, doing what I’d done my whole life, I decided to wing it.

  So I turned, shifted slightly up him, my naked torso pressed to his and I got face-to-face.

  “Okay,” I started to lay it out. “My brother just died and since I bawled in your arms, you know I’m upset. My sister is a bitch and she’s pissed me off and since I blurted that shit out to you, you know I’m upset about that too. And, the gig with this is, straight up, I needed something to take my mind off all that shit. And you’re gorgeous. And you’re Mike. And you showed up out-of-the-blue at my hotel room and set me off. And I had a crush on you when I was a kid. But, babe, seriously, about two seconds into your kiss, it wasn’t about that. It didn’t have anything to do with that. I swear to God, I’m not lying and I need you to know it.”

  After laying it out, I shut up. And when I did his dark brown eyes blinked and they did this slow.

  Shit. Even that was hot.

  And I’d always loved his eyes.

  No. That wasn’t right.

  I’d always loved everything about Mike Haines. His thick dark blond hair. His tall, lean frame. His easy smile. The way he teased which was never mean and always sweet. The way, when he was looking at you, he made you feel like the rest of the world had melted away and you were the only person he could see.

  Everything.

  I watched him grin even slower and he muttered, “Don’t beat around the bush, darlin’.”

  I grinned back as the pressure around my heart released.

  Then it built up again when I did what I’d done my whole life, made a decision and didn’t hesitate before I took a chance.

  “Since you just gave me three mind-boggling orgasms, payback doesn’t exactly scream ‘Reggie’s Pizza’, but it’s a start. I’ll pay if you stay and they deliver.”

  I wanted him to say yes. I wanted it more than I wanted to be three years older when he was dating my sister so he could, instead, date me. I wanted it more than anything I’d wanted in a long time.

  Years.

  Maybe decades.

  And the pressure released when he gave it to me by saying, “Works for me.”

  I smiled straight out this time and his arm around my shoulders gave me a squeeze as his other arm wrapped around my waist and pulled me further on top of him.

  “Coupla things though,” he muttered.

  “Sock ‘em to me,” I muttered back and his lips twitched.

  Then he said, “Reggie’s boy Toby does the delivering but it’s rare. We’ll order, I’ll go get it.”

  That was a bummer because I didn’t want him to leave that bed or my sight but I still whispered, “Right.”

  “Second, I pay.”

  “But –” I started and his arms gave me a squeeze, his face growing serious.

  “Women don’t buy with me,” he said quietly. “I get it, women’s lib and all, got no problem with that. But you’re with me, I pay. No discussion, definitely no stupid-ass fight. That’s just the way it is with me.” />
  Women’s lib and all. That was funny.

  That’ s just the way it is with me. That wasn’t funny. I liked that. A whole lot. The best part was that it intimated it was about more than just one-time pizza.

  Still, there was a debt to be paid.

  “So how do I pay you back for three mind-boggling orgasms?” I asked.

  His face changed but he didn’t answer. This was because the way his face changed was the answer.

  An answer I liked. It was sexy as all hell.

  And it also intimated this was more than one-time sex after a funeral.

  “Okay then, we’re good,” I muttered through another grin, his arms gave me another squeeze, his lips did another twitch then he muttered back, “Reach out and get my jacket, honey.”

  I slid off him, scooted to the edge of the bed, reached out and grabbed his suit jacket. I lifted it up, pulled the covers up my back and rolled under them toward him, bringing his jacket with me. I gave it to him, he fished his cell out of the inside pocket then he threw it over me and back on the floor.

  I rolled into him as he pressed buttons on the phone.

  “What do you like on it?” he asked, eyes to the phone.

  “Pepperoni, sausage, mushrooms, onions, peppers, olives, ham or any combination of the above.”

  His eyes went from his phone to me, “Pineapple?”

  My lip curled as my nose scrunched and I didn’t try to stop it. Then again, I never tried to stop it. I was me. I thought what I thought. I liked what I liked. And I didn’t hide much of anything. Life was exhausting enough with all the ups and downs and bullshit people kept trying to feed you. Expending that kind of effort for essentially no purpose seemed a ridiculous waste of energy.

  “I’ll take that as a no,” Mike murmured and I stopped scrunching my nose and smiled at him again.

  “That’s a resounding no,” I clarified.

  He smiled back then asked, “Meat lovers?”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  He pressed a button on his phone then put it to his ear.